


A Friend for Posy

by christopher417



Category: Ballet Shoes - Noel Streatfeild
Genre: Ballet, Gen, Prague, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christopher417/pseuds/christopher417
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Prague, Posy is wrapped up in improving her ballet; but Nana wants her to expand her horizons (and stop bugging her!), so suggests she befriends one of the girls at Manoff's...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Friend for Posy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElegantPi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElegantPi/gifts).



> Ho-ho-ho, Merry Yuletide!  
> I know you said you don't mind sappy, elegantpi, but I hope this isn't too syrupy even for you!  
> I also heartily apologise for the blatantly stereotypical French "accent"... It's all in the name of fun.

Prague was dark in January, the clouds looming over threateningly like the warning growls of a predator. Cool winds whisked skin off arms and feet through boots quickly turned to ice. People rushed through the streets like fleeing jackals, scarves wrapped around their heads, eyes downturned.

Posy loved it.

‘How could anyone want to live in Hollywood, as Pauline and Sylvia are doing, or Corsica, as Petrova and Gum are, when they could be here?’ she asked poor Nana as she did a little leap around the apartment to express her pleasure.

‘Well, I must say that it is a little chilly here,’ said poor Nana, her hands struggling through chillblanes to knit a cardigan.

Posy leapt unabated across the room. ‘How was that one, Nana?’

‘I’m sorry dear, you know I’m no good at telling one move from another.’

‘Oh, Nana, you’re no use.’ Posy pushed herself onto her toes and executed a neat little pirouette. ‘What time is it now? It must be almost time for the evening lesson.’

Her long-suffering nanny sighed. ‘It’s just after three, Posy dear, and you’ve still got two hours to go. Are you sure you won’t do some of your darning?’

‘I finished it yesterday,’ Posy said. ‘Perhaps I’ll just do a little practice before I leave.’

Nana put down her knitting and looked at her charge. ‘Posy,’ she said, ‘don't you sometimes want to go out and play with the other girls? I know they often play together, I’ve spoken to their caregivers. I’m sure that if there was perhaps one you were particularly close to something could be arranged.’

Posy thought of the girls in her class. Privately she thought that most of them were quite stupid; their dance was technically superb, of course, or they would not be in Manoff’s ballet school, but they didn't dance with their hearts. In Posy’s worldview, this was next to useless.

‘I s’pose there are a _few_ ,’ she said dubiously, thinking of Irina, with her wonderful turnout, and Camille, who had a way of leaping as if she were putting her life in the hands of the wind.

‘Well, why don’t you invite one of them over for tea this Saturday?’ asked Nana. ‘I think it would be good for you to think about something other than dance.’

Posy smiled to herself; Nana didn’t understand that for her, there _was_ nothing other than dance. But she humoured her caregiver and nodded.

* * *

Manoff’s dance school was not the glamorous place that Posy had imagined in London. In fact, it was the second floor of a fairly small apartment block, and let out some of its rooms to musicians. The studios were quite small although well-equipped; they had been stuffy in summer when Posy had arrived, and were freezing now. But the floors were springy, the pianist quick-witted and the teaching superb, and this was all Posy needed to be in her element. Her evening class flew past faster than her footwork; at the end, as the girls pulled their outdoor clothes over their tunics, Posy watched Camille.

Camille was a pretty, rosy-cheeked girl with wonderfully tight curls, but these facts Posy barely registered; it was her arches as she stood _en pointe,_ the graceful lines of her arms in _arabesque_ , the way she seemed to have complete confidence in her body getting where it needed to go.

Yes, Posy thought, she could learn from this girl.

‘Camille,’ she asked, ‘would you like to come to tea?’

Camille looked at her with wide eyes, but it was testimony to her kindness that she merely smiled and accepted the offer of a classmate who had barely ever spoken to her before.

* * *

‘I think she’s French,’ mused Posy as she helped Nana set out the tea things on Saturday.

‘Well isn’t that exciting? You could practice your French on her!’

Posy screwed up her nose. French had never been a passion of hers.

‘From Paris, is she? Or one of those little towns?’ To Nana France was 'Paris' and 'everywhere else'.

‘I don’t know. I just heard it in her accent.’

Just then, there was a knock on their apartment door. As Nana flapped about, Posy calmly strolled to the door and received Camille and a French nanny. The poor _nounou_ was very young and very French, and didn’t seem to understand a word of Nana. As they attempted to talk, Posy and Camille sat primly at the table.

‘How do you like Monsieur Manoff?’ Posy asked.

‘I like him very much. He is a much kinder teacher than the one I had in Valbonne.’

‘Really?’ asked Posy, interested. ‘My teachers in England were always quite nice, although a bit amateurish.'

‘Monsieur is strict, yes, but he is kind. He is encouraging. I think that is good. It helps the students to perform without shame.’

‘Some of them could do with a little shame,’ muttered Posy.

‘Oh, I think that’s quite unkind. They are not all like us, of course; but they all have their strengths.’

‘Have you seen the way Magda sticks out her _derrière_?’ asked Posy, chuckling.

Camille grinned; it was the first time Posy had seen her do so, and it was a lovely, wicked grin. ‘It _is_ funny, isn’t it? But she is very good at leaps.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Posy, thinking back to their last class. ‘We’ve been doing an awful lot of them lately… I mean, I like them as much as anything, but do you think perhaps Monsieur is focusing on them a bit much?’

‘I rather think that…’

‘Look at them, getting on like a house on fire,’ clucked Nana from the couch.

The French nanny looked at her, startled. ‘What is on fire?!’ she cried.

‘Oh – er – nothing, nothing,’ Nana said hastily.

Camille and Posy did indeed get along wonderfully, and from then on each made a special point of observing the other in class, so that they could offer her corrections later. Both found this beneficial, and so did Manoff, who noted how well two of his star pupils were getting on.

 _I truly am a fine teacher,_ he thought with satisfaction.

* * *

Springtime came to Prague, and so did Petrova and Gum.

‘You’ll love them,’ Posy guaranteed Camille. ‘I mean, they’re not like us at all – all wrapped up in machines and that sort of thing – but they’re really good fun.’

‘I’m sure I will,’ Camille said politely.

When they came in to the station, Posy and Nana were waiting for the others.

‘How tan you are!’ Posy said as Petrova squeezed her.

‘And you've grown so tall!’ cried Petrova.

‘Don’t say that, if I grow too much I won't be able to dance,’ Posy said.

‘Oh, Posy. You haven’t changed a bit.’

As they met, over a Saturday tea not unlike that first one, but with two extras presiding, Petrova and Camille sized each other up.

 _How very boyish,_ Camille thought of Petrova’s dress.

 _Awfully prissy,_ Petrova thought, looking at Camille’s curls.

‘Hallo,’ Petrova said awkwardly. Camille smiled and gave a little curtsy.

‘Posy tells me you travel with this professor of yours,’ Camille said as they sat down.

‘Oh yes, it’s wonderful. We’ve been all over the world: Shanghai, Istanbul, Cairo…’

‘Cairo, Egypt?’ Camille’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, how I’ve always wanted to go there! What was it like? You must tell me everything.’

‘They seem to be getting along swimmingly,’ said Gum to his two female companions.

‘Oh, no, to swim is terrible for the ballet!’ cried the French nanny.

Nana shook her head slightly at Gum, who contented himself with watching the three youngsters and thinking about the latest fossils he'd added to his collection.

Posy was quiet once Camille left. In class the next day, Monsieur noticed that she seemed to carry glumness in her dance; it made it very lacklustre, and he scolded her much more than usual.

‘Are you all right?’ Camille asked as they got dressed afterwards.

‘I’m fine,’ Posy said. ‘But can I ask you something? And you can be honest.’

‘With you, I am always honest.’

‘I only mean… Do you like Petrova more than me? I know I’m not very interesting. All I ever talk about is dance. My sisters always used to get angry about it.’

Camille laughed. Posy stared at her, outraged.

‘There’s no need to be rude!’

Camille simply laughed harder. ‘Oh, Posy,’ she said, tears rolling down her pink cheeks. ‘You are a silly thing! Of course I don’t like Petrova more than you. I've only known her a day. You, I feel I have known a lifetime. Dance is not just in you, Posy, it _is_ you. I find it an honour to discuss it with you.'

‘Well,’ Posy said. ‘Well, all right then. Good to know.’

Still shaking her head, Camille led her out of the doors of Manoff’s dance school and into the bitter winter’s night. As she followed, Posy thought, _Perhaps there is something to this friendship thing after all._


End file.
